Disillusionment
by sweetmelody
Summary: COMPLETE “I can’t,” said Ginny, and she went scarlet too. “I’m going with—with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no…” The Yule Ball, in Ginny’s point of view.
1. Announcements

Disillusionment

Summary: "I can't," said Ginny, and she went scarlet too. "I'm going with—with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no..." The Yule Ball, in Ginny's point-of-view.

Disclaimer: Please. If I were J.K. Rowling, I would not be wasting my time writing fanfiction.

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Ginny Weasley was not having a good day.

She trudged back to Gryffindor tower, her book bag slung heavily over her shoulder. _Finally,_ she thought to herself, shifting the weight on her shoulder slightly. _The day is over. I can go back to the Common Room and relax._

She sighed dispassionately as she stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Lacewings."

The Fat Lady scrutinized her. "Sorry, dear. That's not the password."

"That's not the—_what_?" Ginny's eyes widened. "You never told me that the password was changed!" she accused, her voice rising.

The Fat Lady shrugged. "I informed everyone in the Common Room."

"I wasn't there! I don't know what the new password is!"

"Nothing I can do about it. You'll just have to wait until someone else comes and lets you in."

"But you know me," Ginny pleaded. "I'm a Gryffindor—I'm allowed in here—"

"Nothing I can do about it," the Fat Lady repeated. "It's for your own safety, you know."

"Let me in!" Ginny demanded. Her voice rose shrilly, and she mentally berated herself for sounding so childish. The day had put her in a bad mood.

The Fat Lady merely blinked.

"Uh... butterfly wings! Buffalo wings. Chicken casserole. Ford Anglia. No? _Fine._"

Ginny considered for a moment whether she should kick the portrait, then sighed in submission, deciding that it was not a wise thing to do. She sank down next to the portrait and rested her head against the wall, allowing her thoughts to wander.

It had really started last night, she mused, drawing her legs up against her chin. She'd promised Colin that she'd help him with Charms, and they'd worked for two hours after dinner. Then there was an Astrology lesson, and by the time Ginny returned to Gryffindor tower at one o' clock in the morning, she was far too tired to even think about finishing her homework. She promised herself that she would get up early to finish it.

Not only did she not get up early, but she also overslept. She'd awoken this morning to sunshine streaming over her bedspreads. She blinked several times and groggily looked at her clock, did a double take, and blinked again. No way. It could not possibly be quarter to nine—surely she had just laid her head on her pillow a few minutes ago...

With a yelp, she leaped out of bed, grabbed the article of clothing nearest to her, and pulled it over her head. Within five minutes, she was out the door, running down the deserted halls toward the dungeons. She burst into the classroom ten minutes late. Professor Snape eyed her and said coolly, "Late, Miss Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor. Detention."

Ginny lowered her head, her heart still hammering from sprinting all the way across the school, and made her way toward her seat.

"We had just collected the essays on Sleeping Draughts," Snape continued in his silky voice. "Where is yours?"

Ginny had to swallow before she answered, but she refused to give Snape the pleasure of seeing her nervous. "I don't have mine," she said in a clear voice.

Snape rubbed his long, yellow fingers together. "Ten more points from Gryffindor. And another detention."

"Yes, sir." Ginny sat down, wishing she had never gotten out of bed in the first place.

To make matters worse, she'd completely botched up her potion in class, causing Snape to take another five points off of Gryffindor. Ginny was in a foul mood by lunchtime.

"It's okay, Ginny," Colin tried to reassure her as they walked to the Great Hall together. "It's only—"

"Only twenty points and two detentions," Ginny said.

Colin sighed and shrugged, obviously deciding that Ginny was in a too snappish of a mood to listen to anything he had to say.

Ginny sat down and loaded her plate with baked potato, then entertained herself by violently chopping it into crumbs, pretending that it was Snape's head. Colin tried to subtly edge himself away from her, and she had to laugh.

"Sorry," she said. "I was just—"

She looked up upon hearing footsteps to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione approach the table. Ginny's hand grew sweaty, and she laid down her knife. She looked down at her food, trying not to seem like she was watching them. Or watching him, rather.

She could see him even though she was staring at her potato, which had been reduced to a fine powder. She saw as he moved ever closer to the table, his tousled black hair messier than ever, and his green eyes bright and almost glowing. She could feel a blush creep across her cheeks, and she lowered her head, still staring intently at her potato.

And then—and then Harry Potter sat down in the seat next to her.

Ginny tried to ignore the way her heart hammered in her chest as she lifted up a fork and tried to eat her potato normally.

Harry didn't even look at her. He was still evidently involved in a conversation with Ron and Hermione.

"...can't _believe_ McGonagall's making me do this," Harry was moaning.

"Oh, Harry, it can't be that bad," Hermione said briskly, ladling gravy into her plate. "I'm sure half the girls in the school would want to go with you."

Ginny choked on her potato. The trio halted their conversation to stare at her. She shook her head and waved her hand wildly, trying to signal that she was perfectly fine. Colin handed a goblet of pumpkin juice to her, and she drained it. She coughed a few more times, then cleared her throat and returned to her potato. She could feel her face burning.

_I'm sure half the girls in the school would want to go with you_. Ginny puzzled over the meaning of Hermione's words.

"But I can't possibly ask anyone," Harry continued desperately. He ran a hand through his hand, and Ginny exercised all her willpower not to stare at him.

"You probably don't have to," Ron said. "There'll probably be girls all over the place lining up to ask you."

Harry laughed weakly. "Haha, Ron, very funny."

"I wasn't joking!"

"Harry, it's not a big deal," Hermione said. "It's only for one night. Here, you have to eat something for lunch, you know. You can't just skip all your meals because you have to ask some girl to the ball." She began to pile potatoes and carrots onto his plate.

Normally, Ginny would have been seething and staring at Hermione in intense dislike for her annoying meddlesome motherly ways toward Harry. But this time, what Hermione said caught her attention, and she managed to squeak out, "There's going to be a ball?"

All three turned to stare at her again, and Ginny fought to stop blushing.

"Yes, there's going to a ball," said Hermione. "On Christmas Day, for the Triwizard Tournament."

"Yeah, but only fourth-years and above can go," said Ron. "Sorry, Gin-Gin, you won't be able to go this year."

"You don't know that," said Hermione sensibly. "She could get asked by someone older than her, and then she could go."

Ginny, who had been pouring gravy on her potatoes, had completely forgotten that the gravy was still overflowing from the spout.

"Ginny, watch out!" Harry said sharply. He grabbed her hand and manually forced her to place the container of gravy back on the table. Ginny's hand tingled from where he had touched it. She looked down to see her plate flooded with gravy, and promptly blushed yet again.

"Sorry," she said lamely. Harry watched her for a moment, then turned back to Hermione and Ron. The three continued their conversation, and Ginny wisely spared herself from further possible embarrassment by excusing herself from lunch.

Professor McGonagall gave the announcement about the Yule Ball that very afternoon in Transfiguration, amid excited shrieks from the girls in Ginny's year. Ginny rolled her eyes and finished copying down her homework.

Anna McEntire leaned toward Ginny and whispered conspiratorially, "I know who _you're_ going to ask, Ginny."

Ginny shut her notebook and stuffed it into her bag. "I'm not asking anyone."

Saffron Thomas gave a snort of disbelief. "Right, Ginny, we all know that you're in love with Har—"

"_Shush_!" Ginny looked around frantically to see if anyone had overhead.

"It's not as if the entire school doesn't know already," Anna said reasonably. "You've liked him ever since your—what?—first year."

"No, I haven't." She had told the truth, actually. Ginny had developed an infatuation with Harry the first time she had met him, in the train station when she was ten—before her first year.

"Ooh, denial," Saffron said teasingly. "I can see you're blushing, Ginny."

Ginny rolled her eyes again. This was why she had such trouble making friends with the girls in her dormitory—they were all like this, girly and gossipy and hopelessly empty-headed.

"One more word, Saffron, and I'll tell Evan Brightman that you like him," Ginny warned.

Saffron gasped. "You wouldn't dare!"

The bell rang, and Ginny exited the room without another word. She hurried toward the Great Hall for dinner.

Ginny spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione already sitting at the Gryffindor table. She hesitated, wondering whether she was daring enough to sit down next to Harry. Shaking her head, she seated herself diagonally across from him.

Harry did not seem very talkative that night. He kept on staring at a point beyond Ginny, and she turned around to see what he was looking at. A girl. A very pretty Asian girl sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Her long, straight black hair was tied into a loose ponytail, and she was chatting animatedly with a girl on her left.

Ginny turned back to Harry. He was still staring at the Ravenclaw girl. Suddenly not hungry anymore, Ginny stood up and made her way back to the Common Room. Perhaps it was not a clever thing to do, for no one else had left dinner that early. Now she was sitting next to the portrait of the Fat Lady without the new password, stranded with no way to get in.

Ginny glanced down at her watch. Dinner had already begun half an hour ago; perhaps students would be going back to their respective Common Rooms in a few minutes. Ginny's stomach growled in protest at the lack of food, and she debated to herself whether or not she should go back to dinner.

No, she was not going to go back and watch Harry stare like a lovesick puppy at that—that _girl_. If she was hungry, she could always go to the kitchens after everyone else was asleep. She smiled to herself, remembering how she had blackmailed Fred and George into divulging the secret to her a year ago.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and Ginny stood up eagerly. The figure emerged from the shadows, and she saw that it was Neville.

"Hi, Neville," she said.

Neville looked startled to see her. "Ginny! What are you doing here?"

She smiled sheepishly at him. "I've... sort of forgotten the password, and now I'm stuck here until a knowledgeable person can let me in."

"Lacewings," said Neville.

The Fat Lady shook her head.

"Damn it, that was last week's password!" Neville quickly covered his mouth. "Sorry about that—I don't usually swear. My grandmother would make me wash my mouth with soap."

"No problem," Ginny said. "Trust me, I hear much, much worse language from my brothers. I guess I've picked up on a lot of their bad habits." She played with the straps on her bag, then looked at Neville. "So you don't know the password, either. Guess we're stuck out here until someone else comes."

She sat back down, and Neville joined her awkwardly.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I'm always forgetting things..."

"It's all right. It wouldn't hurt to just wait a little longer."

A few minutes later, footsteps sounded through the hall again, footsteps made by none other than Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Ginny inwardly groaned. Harry had already seen her choke and spill her gravy today; why did he have to see her further embarrass herself?

"What are you two doing here?" Ron asked, looking from Ginny to Neville and back to Ginny.

"We forgot the password." Ginny stood up, dusted her robes, and went into the Common Room with the rest of the group.

That night, she lay in bed, thinking. The Yule Ball sounded wonderful, if only she could go. But she was merely a third-year, and no one would ask her unless he was desperate. She sighed and turned to her side. There was no one she could ask who would agree to go with her. Especially not Harry.

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	2. Hermione

Disillusionment

Chapter 2

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They always sat at that exact table, in those exact chairs near the fire. They'd sit there and do homework together, or play chess or Exploding Snap, or simply sit and chat. Ginny, hidden in her corner of the Common Room, was free to watch them. She wondered what it was like, having friends like that, belonging to a group so tightly knit that words were merely embellishments, and not at all necessary to convey meanings.

Ginny had never had a best friend. She had her brothers, and was friends with most of the people in her year, but there was no one she could call her best friend. There was no one to gossip and giggle with, to spill out her darkest secrets and deepest desires and know that she would still be accepted.

There had been one person like that once. His name was Tom. Tom Riddle. But he'd turned out to be nothing more than a manipulator, a sadist, a coldly brilliant opportunist who'd stop at nothing to achieve his ends. Ginny shuddered and glanced back down at her Charms homework.

A tinkle of merry laughter reached her ears, and she once again averted her attention from her homework to look at the trio. She watched enviously as Harry leaned over and said something to Hermione. Hermione raised her eyebrows, her mouth twitching with a suppressed smile. Ron said something, and Hermione burst into laughter.

Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. Hermione was so _lucky_. She was easily the cleverest witch in her year, or in the whole school, and she was best friends with Harry Potter. No doubt Harry consulted her opinion before he did anything. No doubt he told her things that he would never tell other people. No doubt he would ask her to the Yule Ball.

Ginny continued to watch. Harry said something to Ron and Hermione. Hermione nodded and smiled, and Harry stood up and headed for the staircase. Ron and Hermione were left alone on the table. Hermione turned back to her homework. Ron said something, and she looked up, scowling. He laughed and playfully swatted her shoulder. She shouted something, he whispered something, and she blushed.

And then—and then it hit Ginny. It was so obvious she couldn't believe she hadn't realized it before. Harry and Hermione weren't an item, not at all. Hermione liked _Ron_.

_Ron_. What could she possibly see in Ron? Yet the signs were all there. Hermione leaned forward a bit, her cheeks still tinged pink. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her brown eyes dancing. She laughed, shyly at first, and then more freely, until she was clinging to her chair for support, her breaths coming out in gasps.

Ron grinned at her, said something, and he, too, disappeared into the boys' dormitory. Hermione sat at the table alone. She stared at her book, but her eyes were glazed over, and the quill in her hand never moved.

Ginny's revelation spurred curiosity, and she couldn't stand to sit meekly at her table and watch. She stood up and crossed the room toward Hermione's table, pulled out a chair, and sat. "Hi, Hermione."

Hermione looked up in surprise, and Ginny couldn't blame her. They weren't friends, exactly, merely acquaintances. They'd gotten to known each other somewhat during the summer, when Hermione shared a room with Ginny at the Burrow, but after school began, they stopped keeping in touch. They talked only rarely, not because they disliked each other, but because they hardly ever had the opportunity to talk. Besides, Ginny didn't feel like she could carry on a normal conversation with Hermione without becoming insanely jealous. That, however, was before she knew that Hermione didn't like Harry in that way.

"Ginny," said Hermione, pushing a pile of books off the desk to give Ginny more room. "Hi. I wasn't expecting—is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, nothing's wrong." Ginny propped her elbows onto the table and said a bit too brightly, "What are you doing right now?"

Hermione looked down at her parchment. "This? I'm doing research for house-elf rights... Oh!" She turned to Ginny with sudden excitement. "Do you want to join S.P.E.W.?"

Ginny could only respond with a blank stare. "Spew?"

"No!" said Hermione impatiently. "It's S.P.E.W.! Ron calls it spew too—_honestly_! S.P.E.W. stands for Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Did you know that there are _house-elves_ at Hogwarts? I had no idea, until only a very short while ago. It's terribly unjust, the way people treat house-elves. They're not slaves, they're actually intelligent creatures with feelings—"

Ginny wanted to politely interject a comment, but she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"—and I thought that they should get paid for all the work they do. They work terribly hard, and they don't get vacations, or sick leave, or anything they deserve. At the very least, they should get paid. S.P.E.W. is an organization that—"

Ginny began to tap her fingers on the table, but Hermione didn't notice.

"—works for the rights and protection of house-elves. Our ultimate goal is to free them from the slavery they are confined to—"

"Hermione, do you like Ron?"

"—and perhaps eventually even—_What?_"

Ginny doubled over with laughter. Hermione looked positively terrified and quickly looked around the room to make sure that no one heard their conversation.

"Do you like Ron?" Ginny repeated, composing herself.

Hermione frantically waved her hands. "Not so loud!" She looked around the room again, then relaxed somewhat. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

"Not really. Probably not to most people, anyhow."

Hermione fidgeted in her seat. "Do you think—do you think Ron knows?" Her face turned into the color of a very ripe beet.

"Ron?" Ginny laughed. "Are you joking? He hasn't got a clue. He's thicker than troll boogers. He wouldn't notice if you paraded in front of him wearing a loincloth."

Hermione looked rather shocked, and Ginny laughed again.

"What about you and Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Ginny stopped laughing immediately. "What about Harry?"

Hermione's face split into a wide grin. "He hasn't got a date to the Yule Ball yet, you know. I'm sure that if you ask him—"

Ginny shook her head vehemently. "I'm not asking him. I'm not going to embarrass him and make this more obvious than it already is."

"Ginny, I'm sure he won't mind going with you. I told you, he doesn't have a date yet."

"He will." A thought occurred to her. "I bet he's going to go with that Ravenclaw girl."

"Cho Chang?" Hermione bit her lip. "Oh, I don't know if he'll ever pluck up the courage to ask her. Ginny, if you want, I could drop a few hints to Harry..."

"No! No, thanks. I don't want to go with him if he doesn't want to go with me."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I wouldn't want you to tell Ron to ask me..."

"Hermione."

"What?"

"I hope you don't mind me asking... why Ron? Of all the people in the world, why him?"

Hermione looked stumped by the question. "I don't know," she said finally. "He's... he's just... he's really... _Ron_. Yes. He's so Ron. I wouldn't have him any other way."

Ginny nodded slowly.

"What about you, Ginny? Why Harry?"

Ginny thought. There were a hundred thousand reasons, but they seemed all so small and insignificant. "Because he's Harry. Not just because he's Harry Potter, but because he's _Harry_."

Hermione nodded, and for a few moments, the girls were silent, each lost in her own thoughts.

And from that moment on, Hermione Granger became Ginny's friend.

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Ginny found Hermione to be extraordinarily helpful. The older girl let her borrow all of her third year notes, and it took Ginny two trips, staggering the whole way, to transfer all the notes to her own bedside cabinet. She dropped the notes unceremoniously onto the floor and tidied up the few pages that had fluttered away. Merlin's beard, Hermione must have written down word-for-word what every professor said for every single class.

Ginny grabbed a pile of notes and pulled herself onto her bed. She sifted through them and groaned. This was even worse than reading the textbook.

At that moment, Hermione herself burst into the room, her face flushed and her hair even bushier than normal.

"Hermione?" said Ginny, eyeing her warily. "Is something wrong?"

Hermione replied after exhaling several times. "Can you keep a secret?"

Ginny sat up in interest. "Of course."

Hermione seated herself near the corner of Ginny's bed and twisted her hands. "You have to promise not to tell _anyone_."

"I promise."

"_Especially_ not Ron. You wouldn't want to know what kind of hexes I can perform if you tell Ron."

Ginny's curiosity rose about five notches. They had not spoken of Ron or Harry since that night in front of the fire. "Hermione, relax. I know how to keep a secret."

"Okay." Hermione swung her feet against the bed. "I was almost going to tell Parvati and Lavender, but then I remembered that if I told them to keep it a secret, the whole school would know before lunchtime."

"Hermione, you can trust me."

"I know. Oh, this is so strange. I can hardly believe that he—that this happened. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing, and it didn't really happen, and I'll look like an idiot when I... next time."

Ginny rocked impatiently back and forth. "Hermione, spill. It's not nice to keep your audience in suspense like this."

"ViktorKrumaskedmetogototheYuleBallwithhim."

Total silence. And then Ginny screamed.

"Are you bloody serious? Hermione—_Viktor Krum_—" Ginny leaped forward to hug Hermione.

Hermione was blushing furiously and struggling to keep her expression neutral.

"Well?" Ginny demanded. "Details. All of them."

Still blushing, Hermione began. "I was in the library—"

Ginny snorted. "Oh, romantic. Continue."

"I was in the library, looking up flobberworms—"

"Even better. How special."

"Ginny, if you're going to keep on interrupting me, I'm not going to say one more word."

Ginny fell silent.

"So I was in the library, looking up flobberworms for _your_ sake, Ginny, because I think I made a mistake in my notes for Care of Magical Creatures last year—here, I have the research. Do you want it?"

"_Hermione_!"

"Okay. So I was in the library, looking up flobberworms, and I felt an odd prickling sensation at the back of my neck, as if someone was watching me. So I turned around, and there he was, right behind me, and I was so surprised I fell out of my chair."

Ginny laughed, imagining the scene.

"I was _so_ mortified, but Viktor was really nice about it—"

"Viktor? You've started calling him Viktor?"

"Ginny, what did I say about interruptions?"

Ginny meekly closed her mouth and folded her hands in her lap.

"Right, where was I? Oh, yes—I fell out of my chair, and Viktor helped me up, and he apologized for scaring me. And then he just asked, and he pronounced my name wrong. And then—and then he said that he'd been wanting to ask me for a long time, but he was just building up the courage to do so."

Ginny squealed. "That's so _sweet_. And?" she prodded, when Hermione didn't go on. "What did you say?"

"I accepted, of course. I mean, it will be very interesting to go to the ball with him and learn all about him—about Durmstrang, and the kinds of classes that are offered there. It's a school known for Dark Arts, but I really don't think Viktor..."

Ginny sighed in exasperation. Every other girl would be delighted to attend the ball with Krum, and here was Hermione, not thinking it was romantic at all, and only contemplating the educational value of it.

"Hermione," Ginny said slowly, as if speaking to a very small child, "you do realize that you've just been asked to the ball by Viktor Krum, don't you? _Viktor Krum_. International Quidditch star, world-famous—does that ring a bell somewhere?"

"Of course I know he's famous," Hermione snapped. "I know I'm really lucky to get asked by him. But..."

And then Ginny understood. Hermione didn't care that Krum asked her. She wanted someone else to ask her.

"He's still being oblivious, isn't he," Ginny said softly. It was a statement, not a question.

Hermione nodded, fully aware of who Ginny had been referring to. "I don't understand it at all," she said miserably. "Viktor's so nice, and he's a perfect gentleman, and here I am, thinking about _Ron_... Ron, who makes fun of me at least three times a day. Ron, who eats like a pig and chews with his mouth open. Ron, who procrastinates on his homework and tries to copy mine. Ron, who will never have the slightest inkling of suspicion that I feel this way."

Ginny ceased to be envious of Hermione at that moment. Wordlessly, she put her arm around her friend's shoulder.

"And you know what else?" Hermione said, breaking the silence. "As soon as I left the library and was walking toward Gryffindor tower, I saw Neville. He was going to the library to check out a book to help with the Potions essay that's due in two weeks, but he was wasting his time—I checked out all of the books a week ago. I lent him two books, and then he—he asked me, too."

Ginny's mouth fell open. "Oh, my goodness."

Hermione nodded. "I felt so bad for him—I told him that I was going with someone else, and that I was very, very sorry."

"You did the right thing, Hermione."

"I suppose." Hermione sighed and rolled off the bed. She sat cross-legged on the floor, fingering the carpet.

"Thank you, Ginny," she said abruptly. Her eyes were warm with sincerity.

"What for?" said Ginny in surprise.

"For listening. I couldn't have told all of this to anyone else."

"No problem. No problem at all," Ginny said honestly. "I'm glad I could—I'm glad that you trust me with this."

"That's right—remember not to tell Ron. I'm not at the top of the class in Transfiguration for nothing."

Ginny laughed. "You can't Transfigure me into anything—you can't do Human Transfiguration until sixth year. Besides, McGonagall will have your head."

Hermione just smiled. "True. But really, Ginny, _thank you_. And if you ever need to talk about anything, you know I'll be here."

Ginny felt a slow warmth ignite the pit of her stomach. "Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione pushed the curtains aside and retreated. Ginny watched the slight swishing motion of the curtains thoughtfully.

Hermione Granger must be lonely sometimes, Ginny realized. Hermione, who was Muggle-born and an only child, who had two oblivious boys as her best friends. Hermione must sometimes wish for a girl to talk to, a girl who hopefully was not named Lavender or Parvati. And Ginny, with her six older brothers... It was nice to talk to a girl once in a while.

Ginny smiled. Even if the Yule Ball turned out to be a complete disaster—even if she wasn't even asked by anyone—something good would have come out of it.

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Author's Note: The second installment is up! I'm predicting that this fic will have a total of five chapters or so. I'd originally intended for it to be a one-shot, but as soon as I started writing, I realized that it was going to be far too long for a one-shot. It's also far too short to be novel-length.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review! I didn't put in an author's note in the first chapter because I have a tendency to want to beg for reviews, and I hate doing that. Besides, I personally am not affected by begging, so I don't think it does any good. So, review if you want (and thank you!), and if you don't want to, don't.

Oh, yes. Happy early Halloween!

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	3. Offers

Disillusionment

Chapter 3: Offers

I highly doubt I need to post another disclaimer. Why is it even required? It's not like any published author would post his/her works on the Internet.

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One week. One week before the Yule Ball, and Ginny still did not have a date.

Not that she hadn't expected this. She couldn't allow herself to become so bigheaded that she actually believed that someone would ask her. Yet a tiny part of her was always lit with a small spark of hope, that Harry would...

Rubbish. That idea was ludicrous. Absurd. Absolutely ridiculous.

_Time to stop hoping_, Ginny told herself. _If he hasn't asked by now, he never will. Maybe he's already asked that Ravenclaw girl_.

Quite unexpectedly, Hermione's words from a few nights ago echoed back to her.

"_He hasn't got a date to the Yule Ball yet, you know. I'm sure that if you ask him... Ginny, I'm sure he won't mind going with you..._"

Ask him. Ginny could almost laugh at the idea. She'd rather face a dragon than embarrass herself in front of him that way.

That nagging little voice in the back of her head still bothered her, though. _How do you know that he'll say no? How do you know what will happen? You don't. Just ask. Take the initiative._

The more Ginny tried to ignore the voice, the louder it became, up to the point when she shouted out loud for it to shut up. A few students in the Common Room turned their heads to stare at her.

She would do it tonight. No, not tonight. She needed time to compose and prepare herself.

Tomorrow, then.

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Ginny's voice did not seem to be working properly. She cleared her throat, but she still couldn't force sound from it. She licked her lips and took a sip of pumpkin juice. Raising her head to look at Harry, who was sitting across from her in the Great Hall, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Harry," she managed to choke out.

Harry looked startled that she was addressing him. "What's up, Ginny?"

_Ask him if you can talk to him in private_, the little voice in her head instructed.

"Can you—I mean, can I—can you... pass the marmalade?" Ginny winced, her cheeks on fire. Why, oh why, had she said that? _Can you pass the marmalade? Stupid, stupid!_

Harry stared at her, his brows furrowed into a politely puzzled expression. "Uh... sure, Ginny." He passed her the marmalade, and Ginny put it carefully next to her plate. She made sure to avoid his gaze for the rest of breakfast.

She found another opportunity when she was walking out of her Defense against the Dark Arts class. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were only a few steps ahead of her.

_Don't blow it this time_, she told herself. Gathering up her courage, she shouted in a clear voice, "Harry!"

Harry turned around and waited for her to catch up.

"Er," said Ginny, stopping right in front of him. She glanced uncomfortably at Ron and Hermione. "Can I talk to you privately?"

"Sure." Harry shot a meaningful look at his friends, but only Hermione made to move out of earshot. Ron was staring at Ginny like he'd never seen her before.

"Oh, honestly, Ron," said Hermione impatiently, walking back and seizing Ron's arm, effectively dragging him away. "Don't you understand the meaning of the word '_privately_'?" She looked back and gave Ginny an encouraging smile.

Ginny shifted her weight from foot to foot, painstakingly formulating the words in her head. She looked into his eyes, his wide green eyes...

_Green as a fresh-picked toad_. Ginny had to stifle a giggle. The valentine she had send him in her first year had been an agonizing experience, and she found herself wondering—hoping, actually—that he had forgotten completely about it.

He was looking at her with—with what? Curiosity. A slight note of concern. No impatience, however.

"Ginny, is something wrong?"

"No," she said immediately. "Not at all." She took a deep breath.

A loud clatter and a muffled yell made her jump. She looked at Harry again, only to see that his eyes had left her face, and he was searching for the cause of the sound.

They hurried down the hall, and the reason for the disturbance became clear. Neville had forgotten about the trick stair, and he was hopelessly stuck, his hands waving in wild panic above his head. His bag lay at the bottom of the staircase, its contents strewn across the floor.

Ginny scrambled down the stairs and piled Neville's books, quills, and ink bottles back into his bag while Harry pulled Neville out.

"Thanks," said Neville as Ginny handed him his bag. He wiped the sweat off of his face.

An awkward moment of silence ensued as Ginny tried to decide what to say to Harry.

"Ginny, what were you going to tell me?" Harry asked, at the exact same moment as Neville blurted out, "Ginny, can I talk to you privately?"

Ginny stared in dismay at the two of them. They both fixed their eyes on her, waiting for her response.

_It's no good_, Ginny realized. _Even if Harry hadn't already asked someone else—even if he would have been willing to go with me—I can't ask. Not now, not like this. The moment's ruined_.

She closed her eyes and took a moment to collect herself, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. "It's okay, Harry," she said at last, her voice shaking very slightly. "It wasn't important."

Harry looked at her questioningly. "Are you sure? It sounded important..."

"It doesn't matter."

"If you say so." He thrust his hands in his robe pockets and turned to leave. "I'll see you, Ginny."

"Yeah," said Ginny, her voice hollow. "See you." She watched him leave, and was jolted out of her trance by Neville's voice.

"Ginny? Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine. Really. Absolutely spiffy."

He eyed her uncertainly. "Well, I was sort of wondering... if... if you'd like to, er, if you'd like to... go to the ball with me?" He said the last six words very quickly.

Ginny froze, certain that she had misheard. "What?"

"I said—" Neville colored. "Do you... do you, um, want to go to the ball with me?"

_Neville. Neville's asking me_. Ginny stood rooted to the spot, unable to respond.

Poor Neville was getting even more flustered. "Unless you're already going with someone else, or—or maybe you just don't want to go with me. Sorry I asked, Ginny."

Ginny snapped out of her trance and made up her mind quickly. Neville was a decent bloke, and one of the nicest people she had ever met. Going to the Yule Ball with him would be all right. He wasn't Harry, but he was a friend. A friend who took the effort and consideration to ask her.

"Wait, Neville," she said. "I'd love to go with you."

Neville's face lit up. "Really?"

Ginny chose her next words carefully. "It'll be fun."

"Yeah. But—" Here, Neville blushed again. "I think I should warn you—I'm not such a great dancer."

Ginny shrugged. "It's all right."

"Okay." Neville lingered a moment longer, then added, "I guess I'd better head off to class, then. I'll see you, Ginny. Thanks."

She nodded, watching him leave, then headed toward the greenhouses for Herbology. Her mind whirled with the events that transpired over the last half hour. It wasn't until she was halfway to the greenhouses when she remembered that Neville had asked her only because he was rejected by Hermione.

Ginny sighed miserably, drawing her scarf more tightly around her neck. She wasn't even _Neville's_ first choice. Not that anything was wrong with Neville—he had never been anything less than kind and polite to her—but he was... Neville.

"Boys are stupid," said Luna Lovegood knowingly. "Don't let them bother you, Ginny."

Ginny realized with surprise that she had already arrived at the greenhouses, and was standing rather foolishly, having had no idea what Professor Sprout had said for the last ten minutes. She looked wonderingly at Luna. Luna always seemed to have her head in the clouds; yet she was remarkably perceptive of others' moods and the cause of them.

"Thanks, Luna," said Ginny. She managed to cheer up somewhat after focusing on her work and earning ten points for Gryffindor.

In fact, by the time the bell rang for dinner, Ginny's mood had lifted considerably. She'd managed to convince herself that going to the Yule Ball with Neville wouldn't be terrible, and besides, most of the girls in her year didn't even have dates.

"Ginny!" Hermione called from the table, waving.

Ginny joined Hermione at the Gryffindor table and helped herself to roast beef. Between mouthfuls, she related every detail of the afternoon to Hermione.

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said sympathetically when the story was finished. "I'm so sorry."

Ginny shrugged. "I'll live. It was my fault, anyway. If I hadn't stalled for time... if I'd asked Harry right away... oh, I don't know."

Hermione nodded. "Where are those two, anyway? They _never_ skip a meal."

Ginny swallowed her last mouthful. "I'll go to the common room and check."

Hermione nodded, and Ginny made her way back to the common room. Upon first glance, the room seemed empty, and Ginny was about to head down to the Great Hall again, but then she saw him. Ron, sitting in a corner, hidden by shadows, his back hunched and his hands hiding his face.

Ginny hesitated, trying to judge whether or not he would bite her head off if she approached him. She took silent steps crossing the room, and when she reached him, she tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

Ron started, then turned around and saw Ginny. "Oh, it's you. Don't scare me like that."

Ginny pulled a chair out from the table and sat. "What's wrong, Ron?"

He stared past her, hands folded on the table. "I can't believe I did that."

A small frown burrowed itself into Ginny's forehead. "You're going to have to be more specific than that, Ron."

Ron didn't reply. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the desk as he gazed into the fireplace.

"Listen," said Ginny, "Hermione's looking for you, and she's waiting for me to go back to dinner. I'll just go, and whenever you feel like you're ready, you can—"

"No, Ginny! Don't leave me!"

There was a definite note of panic in Ron's voice, and if it didn't sound like something was seriously wrong, Ginny would have laughed. Instead, she settled back in her seat and waited for him.

"I asked Fleur Delacour to the ball," he said at last, his words tumbling out.

Ginny gaped at him and had to exercise all her self-control not to laugh. Sisterly duty, she reminded herself sternly. "Oh, Ron," she said sympathetically as she could, reaching forward to pat his arm. "What did she say?"

"She didn't even say anything. She was just staring at me the way you'd stare at gum at the bottom of someone's shoe."

"Ron, it'll be all right. She'll forget about it, you'll forget about it, and you'll have a nice girl to go to the Yule Ball with and everyone will be fine."

"What's up, Ron?" said a very familiar voice.

Harry. Ginny swallowed any feelings that might have surfaced and fixed him with a perfectly neutral expression.

Ron looked up at Harry, a sort of blind horror in his face.

"Why did I do it?" he said wildly. "I don't know what made me do it!"

"What?" said Harry.

"He—er—just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him," said Ginny. Her mouth was twitching, and it hurt from having to keep suppressing a smile.

"You _what_?" said Harry.

"I don't know what made me do it!" Ron gasped. "What was I playing at? There were people—all around—I've gone mad—everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the entrance hall—she was standing there talking to Diggory—and it sort of came over me—and I asked her!"

Ron moaned and put his face in his hands. He kept talking, though the words were barely distinguishable.

"She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something. Didn't even answer. And then—I dunno—I just sort of came to my senses and ran for it."

"She's part veela," said Harry. "You were right—her grandmother was one. It wasn't your fault, I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it—but she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang."

Ron looked up, and Ginny did as well. Diggory was going with Cho Chang? Then Harry wasn't going with her... but how would he know this?

"I asked her to go with me just now," Harry said dully, "and she told me."

_Oh._ It wasn't like Ginny hadn't expected him to ask her, but there had always been a foolish corner in her mind that thought that he'd ask _her_, Ginny, and... Ginny didn't allow herself to finish the thought. This wasn't Harry's fault. This was her fault for being stupid enough to wish for something so ridiculous.

"This is mad," said Ron. "We're the only ones left who haven't got anyone—well, except Neville. Hey—guess who he asked? _Hermione_!"

"_What_?" said Harry.

"Yeah, I know!" said Ron, laughing. "He told me after Potions! Said she's always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff—but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn't want to go with Neville... I mean, who would?"

If Harry wasn't there, Ginny would have taken a good swing at her brother. "Don't!" she said. "Don't laugh—"

At that moment, Hermione climbed through the portrait hole.

"Why weren't you two at dinner?" she said when she arrived at their table.

Harry and Ron were both laughing too hard to answer, and a mischievous spark lit up in Ginny's eyes. "Because—oh shut up laughing, you two—because they've both just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!"

Amazing, Ginny noted with satisfaction, how quickly the two of them fell silent.

"Thanks a bunch, Ginny," said Ron sourly.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" said Hermione loftily. "Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone _somewhere_ who'll have you."

But Ron was staring at Hermione as though suddenly seeing her in a whole new light.

"Hermione, Neville's right—you _are _a girl..."

Ginny could hardly believe how slow her brother was. Not to mention completely tactless.

"Oh well spotted," Hermione said acidly.

"Well—you can come with one of us!"

_Oh, way to ask a girl to the ball!_ Ginny glanced at Hermione, whose cheeks were flushed.

"No, I can't," snapped Hermione.

Ginny silently cheered Hermione on. How did Hermione put up with someone as thick as Ron all the time?

"Oh come on," he said impatiently, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has..."

"I can't come with you," said Hermione, now blushing, "because I'm already going with someone."

"No, you're not!" said Ron. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

"Oh _did_ I?" said Hermione, and her eyes flashed dangerously. "Just because it's taken _you_ three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one _else_ has spotted I'm a girl!"

Score! Ginny began to make mental tally marks of victories for the bickering couple. She caught Harry's eye. He was looking from Ron to Hermione with a wryly amused expression.

Ron stared at Hermione. Then he grinned again.

"Okay, okay, we know you're a girl," he said. "That do? Will you come now?"

"I've already told you!" Hermione said very angrily. "I'm going with someone else!"

And she stormed off toward the girls' dormitories.

"She's lying," said Ron.

"She's not," said Ginny. _Honestly, how long is it going to take you to believe this?_

"Who is it then?" said Ron sharply.

"I'm not telling you, it's her business," said Ginny. _Right, like you really expected me to tell you._

"Right," said Ron, who looked extremely put out, "this is getting stupid. Ginny, _you_ can go with Harry, and I'll just—"

It was like someone had just dropped a boulder on Ginny's feet.

"I can't," she said, and she felt herself going more scarlet than Hermione. "I'm going with—with Neville. He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought...well...I'm not going to be able to go otherwise, I'm not in fourth year." Her eyes prickled with the all-too-familiar onslaught of tears, and she quickly bowed her head. "I think I'll go and have dinner," she said, and she got up and walked off to the portrait hole.

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She cried, not caring what she looked like to passersby, not caring if anyone saw her. The cold stung her cheeks and made her tremble violently, but she didn't care. The practical voice inside her head kept trying to list reasons not to cry, but she didn't want to listen. Not now. All she wanted now was to cry until she couldn't cry anymore, to lay her head in her mother's lap and be surrounded by warmth and love.

At last, her tears subsided, and she wiped her face with her sleeve. After she'd excused herself from Harry and Ron, she'd run, not exactly sure where she was going. She'd pushed open the great oak doors and had run outside, and kept on running until she couldn't run anymore, before collapsing onto the ground and sobbing.

She stood up shakily and took a deep breath, and began walking back to her dormitory. She managed to laugh a bit at her outburst. After all, all of this was just about a stupid dance. It wasn't worth getting into hysterics over.

But... Her heart wrenched painfully over the discoveries of the evening. She could have gone with Harry. Oh, why couldn't she just wait for him to ask her? He would have, eventually—well, no, Ron would have suggested that Ginny go with Harry eventually, but that was still something. _Why_ had she said yes to Neville? _Why_ couldn't she have asked Harry herself?

Her feet were numb, and she could barely feel her legs. She'd forgotten to bring a cloak when she went outside.

_But Harry—Harry never asked you. Harry doesn't want to go with you; he wanted to go with Cho. Why would you want to go with someone who doesn't want to go with you?_

_Because he's Harry. Because from the moment I first saw him, at King's Cross, I knew. Because I've hidden my feelings for him for all these years—all right, not very skillfully—but still. This is important to me._

_But think about it. If you go with Harry, would you have fun? Or would you just watch him watch Cho and have the whole ball be completely awkward? Better to go with Neville._

_But Neville didn't want to go with me, either._

The rational part of her brain could not think of something to respond with. Ginny sighed, burying her hands in her pockets.

_I hate the Yule Ball. I wish I haven't been asked by anyone. I wish I don't have to worry about any of this._

She was at the door. She pulled it open and went inside, relishing the warm air that pervaded inside the hall.

She continued to walk, slowly, up the staircase, toward the Gryffindor common room, sniffling away the last of her tears.

_It will be all right_.

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A/N: I've noticed something weird about Seems like I lose roughly three hundred and sixty words for the word count for every chapter I post. At first, I didn't think much of it, but it's happened every single time, and this cannot be a coincidence. I suspect that this is enforced so that the very long author's notes in the chapters can be accounted for, but I hardly even write author's notes. Maybe I should. I don't care exactly how many words my stories are, but I think that all the words I write should be counted... Otherwise, I'd be missing over a thousand words every three chapters, and that's not worth it.

So, on with the long author's note. Hope the chapter was worth reading. I tried hard not to make the Harry-Ron-Ginny-Hermione scene in the common room identical to the one in the book, but there's only so much I can do since the dialogue is exactly the same. Sorry about the repetitiveness.

Please review! I know how I was talking about not begging for reviews in the last chapter, and I'll adhere to my own suggestion. But please review and tell me what you think. It's a lot easier to continue a story if I know that you want it to be continued.

Random tidbit that has nothing to do with the chapter: Have any of you ever watched _Into the Woods_? It's a Sondheim musical, and we watched it for English just a week or so ago. It's so fun. My friend burned the soundtrack for me, and we've been reciting the witch soliloquy about greens every day and driving everyone else crazy.

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	4. The Yule Ball: Part I

Disillusionment

Chapter 4

The Yule Ball: Part I

A/N: Webster's dictionary defines "disillusionment" as "a freeing or a being freed from illusion or conviction; disenchantment."

Just in case you have no idea how the title is relevant to the story.

I apologize for the lack of updates, and for going off on a RonHermione rampage instead of working on this. It was fun, though, and I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed "Swear" or "Just This Once." You made my day. And of course, a huge thanks goes to everyone who has reviewed "Disillusionment."

So now, without further ado, I present chapter four.

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"Hermione, don't move about like that—it's going to mess up your hair—"

"Parvati's right. You have to sit still, at least for a while. Here, I'll put a spell on it in a minute to keep it from falling out of place."

"Ginny, just what do you think are you doing?"

"You two are so hopeless. Can't you just sit still and let us do the work for you?"

"Hermione, you're not in your dress robes yet! How on earth are you supposed to get in them without messing up your hair?"

"Ginny, stop moving your head—you just made me mess up on your makeup—"

"Hermione, I'm going to have to undo the clips on your hair—"

Two simultaneous shrieks of frustration were issued from the aforementioned Ginny and Hermione, followed by absolute silence. Ginny stood up resolutely, grabbed Hermione's arm, and marched out of the bathroom in which they stood crowded around the mirrors, getting ready for the Yule Ball.

"Where do you think you're going?" Lavender and Parvati barked. "We're not done yet!"

Ginny led Hermione into the third years' dormitories, where they both collapsed onto Ginny's bed, not caring that their hair was now completely ruined.

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione said. "That was a nightmare, it really was."

Ginny nodded vigorously. "I can't believe we let Parvati and Lavender talk us into this."

Hermione sat up and checked herself in Ginny's mirror. "Oh, my hair looks like a fright. And you—" She turned to examine Ginny. "Lavender put far too much makeup on you. You look severely sleep deprived."

Ginny took the mirror, peered in, and laughed. "I do, don't I? I think we can do a much better job of this ourselves." She checked her watch. "It's seven right now. We have about forty-five minutes to fix the damage. Think we can do it?"

"We can try."

The girls leaped off from the bed and clustered around the mirror, observing each other and making suggestions. Then, armed with potions and palettes of makeup and brushes, they went to work.

Forty minutes later, they set down their tools and examined each other. Hermione, clad in a floaty, periwinkle robe, was stunning. Her hair had been removed of all its bushiness thanks to Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, and had been twisted into an elegant knot. Ginny had applied miniscule amounts of makeup to accent Hermione's facial features, and the effect was better than she could have imagined.

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said, eyeing her work in satisfaction. "You look beautiful."

Hermione flushed with pleasure. "You do too, Ginny. Really."

Ginny looked at herself in the mirror one last time. Her coppery hair hung in loose curls below her shoulders, and her cream-colored robes, although secondhand, fit her perfectly. The terrifying amount of makeup Lavender had applied had been scoured away, replaced by slight touches of makeup where it seemed appropriate. Ginny smiled at her reflection, then smiled at Hermione. Hermione smiled back, exposing rows of perfectly aligned white teeth.

"Ready?" Ginny asked, gesturing toward the staircase that would lead down to the common room.

Hermione nodded, and they exited the dormitory. A flutter of excitement rose in Ginny as she descended down the staircase and saw Neville waiting for her in a corner. She was suddenly and inexplicably optimistic about this evening; somehow, she was sure that something good was bound to come out of it.

Ginny did a quick scan of the room for Harry, but he was nowhere to be seen. Dismissing the thought from her mind, she waved goodbye to Hermione and crossed the room to Neville.

"Hi," she said brightly.

"Hi," Neville said. His eyes traveled from her head to toes. "You look—er—really nice, Ginny."

"Thanks. You do too." It was true. Neville's navy blue dress robes suited him well, and he wasn't slouching for once, giving him a much more open and confident air.

"Shall we go, then?" Neville awkwardly offered Ginny his arm, and they left the common room.

The giant oak doors to the Great Hall were already open by the time Ginny and Neville arrived. They entered, and Ginny stared in wonderment at the decorations. The walls of the hall were sparkling with frost, and thick strands of ivy and mistletoe hung from the ceiling and walls. A large space was cleared in the center of the hall for dancing. Round tables occupied the rest of the space.

"It's pretty," Ginny murmured.

"It is." Neville led Ginny deeper into the hall, where most of the students were gathered.

Soft music sounded, and the champions and their partners moved into the center of the hall to dance. Ginny stood up on her toes to get a better view. Hermione was positively glowing as she danced with Krum. Ginny looked among the crowd for Ron and was rather pleased to see that he was glowering. Harry, dressed in robes of a bottle green color that precisely matched the shade of his eyes, looked wonderful, and while he had evidently made an effort to tame his hair, it still stuck up adorably. Ginny edged closer to the center of the hall and watched him as he danced with Parvati Patil. She was glad to see that he didn't look quite comfortable, though she was less pleased to see that he was staring mesmerized at Cho Chang.

The last strains of the song ended, and the students clapped enthusiastically. A new tune struck up. Neville turned to Ginny and smiled.

"Would you like to dance?"

"Sure." Ginny took Neville's hand and led him to the center of the floor. He awkwardly placed his hands around her waist, and she laced her fingers around his neck. They rotated around the spot, swaying slightly to the beat. The song was slow, and it wasn't bad at all, dancing with Neville.

That was, until Ginny felt a sharp pain shooting up her foot.

"Sorry!" Neville said quickly. "Sorry, I'm not really the best dancer—I have a tendency to step on people's toes. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," Ginny said. The next few seconds passed without incidence, and then Neville trod on Ginny's foot again. He apologized immediately, and Ginny managed a weak smile.

The rest of the song passed excruciatingly slowly. The first three times Neville stepped on Ginny's foot, she forgave him readily. After the nineteenth time, however, her patience began to wear thin. Yet she couldn't exactly allow herself to become angry with him—he was trying his best, and he apologized profusely after every mishap.

They were now dancing quite close to Harry and Parvati. Harry saw Ginny wince and offered a sympathetic smile. Suddenly, everything in the world seemed all right again, and Ginny smiled back. Neville stepped on her foot yet again, and her smile disappeared.

The song ended, and Ginny practically raced off the dance floor and into one of the seats at the tables. Neville followed her at a jog, bewildered.

"I'm hungry," Ginny announced by way of an explanation, scooting her chair farther from the desk and intending to massage her feet. Then, realizing that was not the most polite thing to do at the dinner table, she pushed her chair closer to the table and sat with her hands folded in front of her plate.

The method of serving all the students was quite ingenious; all one had to do was to specify the food of choice and clap his hands, and the food would appear. Ginny helped herself to roast beef, while Neville enthusiastically shoveled baked chicken into his mouth.

"Ginny," he said presently after he had chewed and swallowed.

His tone of voice was quite serious. Ginny stopped eating to focus on him. "What?"

Neville pushed his food around his plate with his fork. "I'm—I'm really glad you decided to come with me, Ginny." He let his fork clatter back onto the plate and met her eyes shyly. "Thank you."

"Oh, Neville." Ginny leaned over to give him a clumsy, one-armed hug. "You don't have to thank me. Thank you for asking me."

Neville smiled. They finished their dinner in silence, applauding when the Weird Sisters began to play their first song.

"Would you like to dance?" Neville asked.

Ginny hesitated, wondering how much torture her feet could take. "Okay," she said finally. It was only one dance, after all, and Neville had been awfully nice to her this evening.

She quickly regretted her decision as soon as they stepped out onto the dance floor. Her feet, having already been stomped on numerous times, were protesting adamantly against the treatment they received. She was quite sure that if she took off her shoes to examine her feet, they would be covered with blue and purple bruises.

A strange prickling at the back of Ginny's neck caused her to snap her head back. It was the distinct feeling that she was being watched, and as she turned around, she saw that someone was indeed staring at her. A dark-haired, dark-eyed someone was looking at her the way that she had always wanted to be looked at by Harry.

Confused, Ginny quickly turned around to see if there was a pretty girl behind her; after all, it didn't seem very likely that a handsome boy could possibly be looking at _her_ in that way. However, no one was behind her except for Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall waltzing, and she sincerely hoped that the boy was not staring at _them_ in that way.

She turned back to the boy, who gave her a small smile. She smiled hesitantly back and turned to face Neville again. She was delusional, certainly—why would anyone look at her that way, and a stranger, no less?

The song ended, and Ginny gratefully began to hobble toward the tables.

"I think that's enough dancing for now, don't you?" she said to Neville, her voice strained with false cheerfulness. "We can dance later if you want."

Neville nodded at her. "Of course. Do you want something to drink?"

"Just iced pumpkin juice, please. Thanks, Neville."

Neville nodded again and headed off to obtain drinks. Ginny half-ran the rest of the way to the tables, nearly twisting her ankle in the process ("Damn high heels!") and collapsing into a chair. Removing her shoes with some difficulty, she bent down to examine her feet. Fresh bruises of varying shades of color were blossoming over them. She scowled and gingerly poked a bruise, then immediately winced.

"Hi."

Ginny looked up to see who had spoken to her, and to her utmost horror, it was the handsome boy who had just been staring at her. She hurriedly tried to cram her feet back into her shoes.

"Hi," she responded, blushing furiously.

He watched her as she struggled with her shoes, half amused and half sympathetic. "Are you all right? What happened there?"

"Oh, you know—dancing and—partners treading on your feet—" With one final tug, she managed to fit her feet inside her shoes. Snapping the buckles back in place, she looked up to give the boy a sheepish smile.

He smiled back at her, a bit uneasily. Silence descended on the two.

"Erm…" Ginny began.

"I'm Michael," said the boy suddenly, kneeling to look at her at eye level. "Would you like to dance?"

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A/N (again, sorry): A very happy holiday to you all, whichever one you celebrate!

I bear no particular fondness for Michael Corner, but I do think that he helped Ginny get over Harry (somewhat) and therefore she can act normally around Harry and show him what she's really like. Harry and Ginny will get together eventually… in the seventh book, perhaps. I know they will.

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	5. The Yule Ball: Part II

Disillusionment

Chapter 5

The Yule Ball: Part II

A/N: I'm so sorry about the… er… seven-month gap between updates. I doubt any of you were waiting with bated breath for the next chapter, as you all know exactly how it's going to end, but I hope that I've made this story worth reading. This is the last chapter. The story's finally completed. I'd like to thank everyone for reading this story and following it from start to finish. You don't know how much I appreciate every review I get, and even though I imagine that many of you read my stories and don't review, that's okay. I hope you enjoy it anyway. This has been so much fun to write.

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Ginny wondered if she was having hearing problems. "Sorry?"

Michael smiled at her, an adorably lopsided grin. "Would you like to dance?"

Thoughts raced through Ginny's mind. _Neville… Harry… dancing… Michael… did he really just ask me to dance?_ Her cheeks were uncomfortably warm. Michael was still kneeling, smiling at her and waiting for an answer.

"Pumpkin juice," Neville announced as he stopped beside Ginny to hand her a goblet. He glanced half-curiously, half-warily at Michael.

"Thanks, Neville." Ginny took the goblet and swallowed an enormous mouthful of iced pumpkin juice. In a split second, she had made up her mind. "Neville, would you mind if I dance with Michael for a bit?"

Neville glanced from Ginny to Michael, the tiniest hint of a frown creasing his forehead. "Sure. I mean, I don't mind."

"Thank you."

Michael, beaming, took Ginny's hand and led her onto the dance floor. Soft, lilting music echoed throughout the hall. Carefully, she wound her fingers around his neck. Then, feeling suddenly like the movement was too intimate for someone she didn't even know, she unwound her fingers and awkwardly placed her hands on his shoulders.

"I—I haven't told you my name yet, have I?" she said haltingly. "I'm Ginny. Ginny Weasley."

"I know."

"Oh." Ginny cleared her throat and tried to think of something else to say.

Silence suffocated her. She usually wasn't this bad at conversing. She could almost always find something interesting or clever to say, and a nice, long conversation would follow… except when she attempted to talk to Harry, but that was beside the point.

"You look… really pretty," Michael said suddenly.

Ginny started and blushed. "Oh. Thank you. Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, I do. I guess I wouldn't say so if I don't think so."

"Good point."

The music faded, and a new and very quick song struck up. Michael grinned at Ginny, removing his hands from her waist and grabbing her hand.

"Do you like to dance?" he said.

"Yes," Ginny said honestly, "but I'm not very good at it."

Brushing her comment aside, he pulled her close and dipped her dramatically. Ginny felt the blood rush to her head and laughed as he pulled her back up. He smiled at her and began a complicated sort of dance that complemented the rhythm of the music, and Ginny, not knowing the steps, tried to improvise. Michael raised his arm over her head and twirled her, and as the music went on, Ginny found with some surprise that she was having fun.

The last notes of the music blared, and the two walked off the dance floor, hand in hand. Ginny was panting slightly, and her hair fell into her face incessantly no matter how many times she tried to brush it back. Laughing, Michael tucked the unruly strand of hair behind her ears and she felt herself blush. It was a good thing, really, that her cheeks were already pink from dancing.

"You're a good dancer," she told him.

"You are too." They reached a table, and Michael pulled the chair out for her.

"Liar," she said lightly as she sat. "You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not."

"Fine. I can only be a good dancer when you're leading."

"Fair enough."

"So," Ginny said, feeling a lot more at ease now that they actually seemed to be having a proper conversation. "I assume you're a Ravenclaw."

"I am," Michael affirmed. "Do I look like one?"

Ginny pondered this question for a moment as she looked at him. "Sort of. But you don't act like one. I used to think that all Ravenclaws were studious and boring."

Michael's eyes twinkled. "Do you think I'm studious and boring?"

Ginny smiled. "I wouldn't know yet, but from the way you can dance, I don't think so." She scooted in her chair and leaned forward. "And you're a… fourth year."

"Fifth," Michael corrected.

"Oh! Sorry." She watched his face to see if he was offended, and since he didn't look particularly so, she continued. "Maybe, then, if you want, you can help in Potions. If you want. I'm failing that class."

"_Everyone's_ failing that class except for the Slytherins. I don't think I'd do much good if I were to help you."

She laughed. "That's true. Snape is just so… oh, I don't know, _evil_. Do you think that greasy git ever washes his hair?"

Michael laughed as well. "You know, I've been wondering about that for a while, too. Last week, I heard that…"

They spent the next fifteen minutes happily bashing Snape and exchanging cruel but amusing anecdotes concerning him. Ginny nearly cried with laughter when Michael did a particularly accurate imitation of Snape pacing around the room, peering into every student's cauldron.

The first notes of another slow song hung in the air. Michael turned to Ginny, smiling. "Would you like to dance?"

She beamed and let him take her hand and lead her onto the dance floor. As they danced, her eyes wandered toward all of her fellow students, some who looked to be having the time of their lives, and others who seemed bored beyond belief. Her eyes fell on Neville, who was sitting alone, looking at her, his expression unreadable. She immediately felt guilty for deserting him and resolved to dance with him again at the expense of her toes.

Michael obviously caught sight of Neville as well. "Aren't you glad I rescued you?" he said teasingly. "What was a pretty girl like you doing with the likes of him, anyway?"

She immediately removed her hands from his shoulders and glared at him, anger surging through her veins. "'_The likes of him_' happens to be my friend! I can't believe you'd be so quick to judge him—you don't even know him!" Furious, she turned and walked toward Neville as fast as she possibly could.

"Wait—Ginny!" Michael followed her hurriedly, pushing students aside to catch up. "I didn't mean it that way! It was supposed to be a compliment!"

"A _compliment_? That's a great way to compliment a girl, by insulting her friends while you're at it!" She walked faster, but Michael had already caught up to her. He placed his hand on her shoulder to restrain her, but she slapped it away angrily. "Go _away,_ Michael."

He looked at her and finally seemed to realize that the way her eyes were flashing meant that she was going to hex him without further ado. Without another word, he turned around and walked away.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Ginny made her way toward Neville and plopped unceremoniously into the chair next to him. "Hey," she said apologetically.

Neville looked toward the crowd on the dance floor. "What happened to your friend?"

"My friend happened to be a complete jerk. I don't think I'd be talking to him again any time soon." She sighed and smiled tiredly at Neville. "So how have you been doing?"

"Oh, all right, I guess." He gestured toward a goblet near his elbow. "Pumpkin juice?"

"Yes, please." She took the goblet and sipped the juice slowly, savoring it.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough. Ginny and Neville talked, and she found him to be every bit as nice as she always thought he was. They found Harry and Ron and conversed for a few minutes with the two, and Ginny was quite pleased when she managed not to embarrass herself. They danced once, and it was much better than before; Neville only trod on her feet nine times. When midnight approached, they stood up and began to walk back to the Common Room together.

"Thank you, Ginny, for coming with me," Neville said as they walked. "I had a good time."

"I did, too," Ginny said honestly. "And thank you, Neville, for asking me. It was really nice talking to you. You're a very special person." She smiled warmly at him. He blushed and mumbled something incomprehensible.

They reached the portrait hole. Neville said the password, "fairy lights," and they were just about to go in when Ginny heard heavy footsteps behind them and turned around. Michael was running toward her, face flushed, hair disheveled.

Neville looked uncertainly at Ginny. Ginny gave an exasperated sigh. "You can go, Neville. I'll just deal with him for a few minutes. I'll be there in a minute."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Yes." She smiled. "I can take care of myself."

"I know." Neville climbed into the portrait hole, and it sealed once more.

"Ginny," Michael said breathlessly when he finally reached her. "Look, about what I said—I'm really, really sorry."

Ginny gazed at him coolly. "No one insults my friends and gets away with it. Sorry just isn't going to cut it."

"I know. I'm sorry. I mean, I _am_ sorry, but—" He raked his hand through his hair, looking incredibly flustered. "Can you just hear me out?"

Ginny crossed her arms and continued to look at him. "Fine."

He took a deep breath. "Look, Ginny. I'm just—I'm just sorry, okay? I don't know what came over me that time. I really didn't mean to say that, and I certainly didn't mean for it to come out sounding like that. I truly didn't intend to insult your friend."

Ginny maintained her unsympathetic stare, but she could feel herself softening. "My friend's name is Neville, and he's one of the nicest people I know," she said, as coldly as possible.

"Okay," he said. "I'll remember that. But Ginny, seriously—do you think you can forgive me? Please? I know I've been an idiot, but please. Can't you give me another chance?"

Ginny hesitated.

"Look," Michael said, almost desperately. "Maybe we can start over. Pretend we haven't met. Tomorrow, at breakfast, I'll come over to you and introduce myself, and maybe you can forget what I've done wrong and try to get to know me again."

Her self-resolve collapsed. He looked so pitiful, standing there, and he truly looked like he was sorry. "Oh, all right, then."

Michael broke into a smile. "Thank you."

They stood looking at each other for an awkward moment.

"I've got to go," Michael said at last. "Good night, Ginny."

"Good night, Michael." She watched him as he disappeared down the long corridor. When he was completely out of sight, she climbed through the portrait hole and went up to her own dormitory.

She lay for a long time on her bed, eyes wide open, gazing at the ceiling, thinking and reflecting.

It had been an eventful evening, and everything that led up to it was equally important. She smiled when she thought of the beginning of her friendship with Hermione, and her strengthened friendship with Neville, both of which she was sure were going to last a long, long time. She even managed a small laugh when she thought about her failed attempts at asking Harry to the ball.

In the end, it didn't matter that she didn't go with Harry. In fact, it was better that she didn't. If she had gone with Harry, she would not have gotten the chance to find out what a wonderful person Neville was, and she probably would not have met Michael. She smiled when she thought about Michael, about his charming ways and his sincere apology.

It had been a journey, she realized. A journey of disillusionment, of self-discovery, and of maturation. It wasn't all easy, but it was all worth it.

As she drifted off toward sleep, she saw Harry's face in her mind. His lambent green eyes sparkled at her, and his mouth curved upward into a beautiful, heartbreaking smile. For the first time, she didn't order himself to clear these ridiculous images from her mind. She was content to lie there, her eyes closed, imagining and dreaming, that someday, maybe… maybe they could…

She fell asleep before she finished that thought.

FIN.

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End file.
